


i reached into my bag to pull out the promise we made but pulled out a towel instead

by obtusify



Series: Like winning the lottery (when all you expected was a shitty keychain) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "i jumped into your car screaming DRIVE" AU, M/M, Police AU, Tw: attempted rape, relevance, shameless fluff, tw: mild language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obtusify/pseuds/obtusify
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi's varyingly stoked, stony and half-asleep squad is ill-equipped for a late-night car chase in downtown Tokyo, especially since all they want to do is go home to their boyfriends and sleep.</p><p>However, shit happens.</p><p>Wherein Iwaizumi is bad at being a cop, good at being a human, and terribly, irremediably gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i reached into my bag to pull out the promise we made but pulled out a towel instead

**Author's Note:**

> firstly, i don't know shit about the police. hopefully the brainless fluff makes up for my abysmal lack of knowledge
> 
> title taken from arashi no atode by galileo galilei. bombass fuckin song right there
> 
> enjoy reading this crappy by-product of my study-all-nighters as much as I enjoyed dumping timeless characters into this terrible AU.

            Do you know how awkward it is when you’re a cop and you get pulled over for dangerous swerving?

            Because Iwaizumi sure as hell does. Half-heartedly rolling down his car window and resigning himself to his fate at 3am in the morning, he looks up into the cop’s eyes, which widen as Iwaizumi immediately looks down again, cursing. Not only was he from the Shinjuku branch – _his_ branch, he was also someone who knew Iwaizumi very well.

            “Iwaizumi-senpai?” The young cop says reproachfully, his green eyes resigned. “Why?”

            Iwaizumi looks at him passively, like he’s the diarrhea that’s still stuck in his rectum after ten consecutive trips to the toilet. “Akaaaaa – ” It fades out into a yawn. “ – shi. It’s my fault, okay? Again. Just fuck me up.”

            “ _Senpai_ ,” Akaashi rebukes. “That’s the third ticket this month. You need to stop driving if you’re this tired, it’s common knowledge. No one’s going to blame you if you take a break.”

            “But,” Iwaizumi tries to protest through another yawn.

            Akaashi slaps his mouth to cut off his own yawn, looking furious with himself. “Senpai. Excuse my French, but you need to take a fucking break. You do know headquarters has been mobbed for damage claims after almost every night you’ve been on patrol?”    

            “Mmn,” he mumbles as Akaashi prattles on. 

            Iwaizumi is half-asleep by now and Akaashi’s voice is so nice and his green eyes are so attractive and he’s… so… tired……

 _Gay thoughts putting me to sleep every night,_ he thinks blearily to himself.

 

 

            They are both startled by static from their walkie-talkies.

            “ _Calling all units on patrol in southern Shinjuku, I repeat, calling all units in south Shinjuku! This is Sawamura from central Ikebukuro, we’ve got a car heist on our hands here. Does anyone copy?”_ Iwaizumi perks up in interest.

            Someone answers wearily in the affirmative, spurring Sawamura – Daichi – on. In unhesitating, calculated, even tones, he is already transmitting the general coordinates of the chase and giving certain instructions to units in specific areas, all the time over sirens threatening to drown out his voice. Iwaizumi marvels at how focused he is, even under pressure. _How is it that just being around his (beautiful) boyfriend makes_ this _guy turn into total mush?_ Iwaizumi queries silently.

            At one point, there is the sound of tyres screeching furiously; Daichi’s voice is replaced by Kageyama’s, who says, “ _Sorry, boss, here you go,”_ before presumably handing the walkie-talkie back to Daichi. Other units are also responding, cutting into Daichi’s transmission – it looks like some fun really has begun tonight.

           But Iwaizumi is _so tired._ Akaashi looks like he’s ready to kill something and Iwaizumi can really empathize, who fucking cares if someone’s car got stolen, he needs a fucking nap pronto. But _right. Cops can’t think like that._ Iwaizumi sets his jaw and straightens in the driver’s seat. He is a Good Cop. He looks at a very irritated Akaashi, a stray lock of wavy dark hair sweeping over slanted green eyes – _hot,_ he thinks in distracted appreciation – and raises his eyebrows questioningly.

           “Go on,” Akaashi says with gritted teeth. “Go fulfill your duties,” before walking stiffly back to his car, where a sympathetic-looking Bokuto sits in the passenger’s seat.

 _Yay_ , Iwaizumi thinks sarcastically. Revving the engine, he signals his way back onto the road before making his way with all due haste north to Ikebukuro.

 

* * *

 

            After near ten minutes in the famed entertainment district, Iwaizumi has inexplicably ended up near the red light district where he can see small groups of men – Japanese and otherwise – who either look like nervous first-timers walking too self-consciously or total assholes ready to slap at least ten asses in any given bar. Despite his very useful observations, he still can’t spot any signs of a wild cop chase anywhere. He pulls over and keys his radio. “Daichi-san, this is Iwaizumi. So where’s all the fun?”

            It isn’t ten seconds before he’s met with an answering crackle. “ _Iwaizumi, you have to sound more professional.”_ The tone is reproachful, but becomes serious. _“We’re chasing him east around the Sunshine 60 right about now. He’s fast, so be on your guard – and…!”_ Tyres and Kageyama are screeching in the background. “ _Shit. Kageyama. ShiT KAGEYAMA TURN – ”_

           The sound of engines, sirens and yelling overtake his voice, and the transmission ends. Iwaizumi waits through one of the longest, most loaded silences he’s ever known.

            When Daichi keys in again, he sounds mortified. “ _……… We lost him.”_ He sounds how Iwaizumi imagined he would if his (beautiful) boyfriend – Koushi – were ever to break up with him. Like he’d lost the world. Iwaizumi stifles a grin. _“…I repeat, we lost him. It’s a black Ford. HAF 1042. Fifth right turn off Otome Road, west from the junction coming down from the flyover.._.”

            Iwaizumi focuses on Daichi’s voice, and when he hears the details, his eyes widen and he gives a start, looking frantically for the nearest signboard. _“Sergeant Iwaizumi; Squadron Officers Akaashi and Inuoka. You should be roughly in position to intercept him – be on guard. All other units, set up a perimeter two roads out from Otome – he can’t have gotten far. Sergeant Aone, you’re in charge.”_

           Sawamura sounds determined. _"If anyone sees our guy, notify us immediately, you hear me? And give chase.”_ Daichi sighs, as Iwaizumi’s senses go into overdrive, looking into the mirror, out the window, everywhere.

 _It’s got to be,_ he thinks as he confirms it to himself, on full alert, pulling up the gear, preparing to turn back onto the road at full speed as the walkie-talkie gives a final, resonant crackle: “ _Sawamura, over and out.”_

            Which is precisely the moment when someone _yanks_ his fucking door open and Iwaizumi almost screams (but he doesn’t because he has dignity) and the intruder just leaps straight into the passenger’s seat screaming “HI WHAT’S UP PLEASE DRIVE,” and slamming the door.

            Notwithstanding the fact that he is literally on the _only fucking road_ the culprit could have escaped to, Iwaizumi has been taught to adjust to sudden situations, so he gives his unexpected new passenger a quick once-over.

            Slightly oversized dark hoodie, nose and cheeks red from the cold, tousled soft brown hair framing his doe eyes and softening the defined jut of his cheekbones and jawline. Although he can’t have been that much younger than Iwaizumi himself, he looks _so_ cute, hunching himself up and pulling off his winter gloves to blow over his pink knuckles, all the while jumpily scanning the vicinity through the windows and windshield.

            The intruder stops briefly and turns to look imploringly at Iwaizumi. “Hi. I’m sorry. But. Please drive,” he pleads. “Please,” he adds for good measure, and he looks so desperate that under different circumstances, Iwaizumi would’ve acceded before you could blink, but this is Police Mode Iwaizumi right now.

            “Um,” Iwaizumi states eloquently. “Who the fuck are you.”

            The guy is really jumpy, as proved by his lightning stream of verbal vomit that Iwaizumi has to struggle to hear. “My name’s Oikawa and it’s kind of hard to explain right now but the cops are after me and I really, please need you to please drive please,” he explains in a breathless rush.

            Iwaizumi sighs inwardly. He isn’t even fucking surprised anymore. Maybe he should even have seen this coming. Also, _Oikawa_? Where has he heard that before? Jolting back to the situation at hand, he dismisses the stray thoughts. 

            “Well, good luck to you,” he drawls. “Because I am a policeman, Oikawa-san.” And in that moment, it’s all worth it. All the sleepless nights, the civil complaints, the pee-holding, the inability to gracefully earn speeding tickets – all worth this moment, in which he can finally dramatically proclaim to someone that he is, in fact, a cop.

           “Fuck me,” Oikawa breathes, and Iwaizumi fights back a snort, because, well.

           “You’re a cop?” Oikawa laughs nervously. “Hahahahaha. That’s a good one. I mean. You sure don’t look like one. And if you are, then I really do have a fucking trainwreck of a life. I’m sorry.”

           “I’m a plainclothes cop right now,” Iwaizumi clarifies. “And yes, your life does appear to be a trainwreck. So is mine. No need to apologize.”

           They sit in silence for a while. Oikawa hunches himself up more, looking like his world is crashing down around him, which it probably is.

           He says in a small voice, “What if I tried to run?”

           “I’d catch you,” Iwaizumi answers bluntly. “Tell me when you’re ready to go into holding.”

           “No – no wait,” Oikawa amends desperately. “Let me explain. Properly.”

           Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, waiting.

            “S – so it’s like this,” Oikawa begins hesitantly. “I’m at a party and you know, the usual, guy picks me up, ( _Usual?_ Iwaizumi thinks wryly, unsurprised) I go with him outside to some back alley, we make out, he starts feeling me up, and you know what, _I was okay with that.”_

            Oikawa is getting into his stride now, practically seething. “But what I was _not_ okay with was him trying to pull down my fucking pants and do me, _in_ that fucking alley, like do you know how uncomfortable it’s going to be, and what makes you think I want sex if I'm literally pushing your hands away?

            “So of course I made that clear but he just went on, and I was just like what the _fuck_ ,” he spits, “and I tried to shove him away but he was bigger than me and just _pinned me against the wall_.”

            Oikawa sounds majorly pissed – Iwaizumi is, too, kind of. “Like, _fucking rude._ And I couldn’t escape. So I did the first thing I could think of – I kneed him in the balls.”

            He laughs at the memory. “Pretty dick move, but he was a dick, okay. So then there’s no way to get away, and he’s chasing me, and the only route to not getting raped is his nice sparkly conveniently unlocked Ford right there.

            “So,” Oikawa concludes, “I took it. And escaped. And dumped it in an alley. And here I am.” He turns to the man beside him expectantly and looks puzzled at his expression. “What?”

            “NOTHING,” Iwaizumi growls far too loudly over the sound of his gay thoughts, and the other looks taken aback. He is supposed to fucking arrest this delinquent boy. Except, if the story is true, he _isn’t_ really a delinquent. And Iwaizumi is inclined to believe that it is – the guy looks more innocent than a nun. Who knows what nuns even do in their… nunneries.

            Moreover, Iwaizumi _does_ understand him, and wholeheartedly agrees that his would-be rapist is a dick and deserves worse than a hit to the balls and a stolen car. _But the law isn’t so understanding. It’s gonna be complicated if he goes into holding,_ Iwaizumi thinks to himself.

            Oikawa probably wouldn’t be arrested, but they’d have to make the report, find out the owner of the car, call him in, argue at length; probably bring in the lawyers since the crime didn’t technically occur and Oikawa _was_ consenting all up until halfway, which the other man would likely try to argue… Iwaizumi’s getting a headache just from thinking about it.

           But it’s not like he can’t do anything for Oikawa. He can do something. Namely... help him escape. He can arrange for Oikawa’s would-be rapist to be put under alert later.

           He’s gonna have shit to explain to Daichi – Iwaizumi just prays he’ll understand. If he doesn’t, there’s always Koushi, who his superior officer is head over heels for _and_ who condones _everything._ Iwaizumi often finds himself wondering whether Koushi should be the one under police surveillance, instead of the dozen so-far-innocent latent criminals they’ve been tracking over the city. His angelic smile hides a surprising inclination towards mild psychopathy. Anyway, Koushi could probably give Iwaizumi a hand in explaining this away.

 

 

           “Okay man,” he sighs after a pregnant silence, testing the engine – Oikawa jumps at the sudden _vroom_. “I’ll give you a hand here. You don’t deserve prison. They’ll find the car anyway. Name the place. I’ll deal with that asshole later, I promise.”

           The guy _squeaks_ in overjoyed disbelief and Iwaizumi’s brain short-circuits. Just a bit. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” Oikawa’s voice turns teasing and he bats his eyelashes. “You’re not just doing this because I’m cute, right?”

           “Shut up, Trashkawa,” the policeman growls, annoyed that someone could be so aware of their own attractiveness. “I’m not that shallow. I’m a man of justice. Don’t look down on the Japanese police. Although. You are.”

 _WOW, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT,_ Iwaizumi yells in his mind. Yeah, that’s it. From now on, the entity called Iwaizumi Hajime does not exist. There will only be Ping, an amateur law clerk who will be living in Indonesia starting tomorrow. Yes. However, Iwaizumi is jolted out of his fantastical, tormented reverie by Oikawa’s laughter.

           “Well, Keisatsu-san,” Oikawa is saying, “you are too,” and hey, Iwaizumi thinks he used to have a brain, but he must not anymore, because… he can’t think. At all. Like he can’t even think that he can’t think. “Iwaizumi,” he blurts.

           “Iwa-chan,” the other decides cheekily, dimpling and Iwaizumi raises a half-hearted but still decently fierce-sounding protest which Oikawa gracefully waves off.

           “I call everyone -chan – makes life easier. Anyway,” Oikawa continues, “I live somewhere around here.”

           He proceeds to give the officer next to him, who is only semi-functioning because he’s fucking tired and can’t decide whether he wants to run this boy over or maybe spend the rest of his life with him, directions which he can barely process.

           The streets are barer because it’s fucking 4, so Iwaizumi passes most of the red lights since he isn’t endangering anyone and the cameras won’t recognize him as the police. Also he’s afraid he might fall asleep if he stops too long. Iwaizumi hates himself, but he’ll make it up… somehow.

           (It may or may not also have to do with the fact that Oikawa lets out an impressed whistle every time he does it and clicks his teeth in mock chastisement, yet seems to approve. Iwaizumi likes that he likes it, so... well… he keeps doing it.)

           Yes, Iwa-chan is an actual seventh-grader. Some part of his befuddled brain retains enough coherency to loudly proclaim fervent apologies to… God, his parents, his ancestors, and anyone who wouldn’t have wanted him to become this sort of person. He isn’t proud of himself at all.

 

*

 

           Oikawa lives near the station in central Ikebukuro, which is supposedly no time at all from here.

           However, it proves to be quite a colorful bit of no time, highlighted by Oikawa repeating instructions in patient exasperation; several backtracks due to wrong turns; and a chance encounter with a melancholy drunkard lying in the middle of the road (Oikawa brought him to the side, gave him a pep talk and a quick peck on the cheek, and made him promise to try his best to keep on living).

           The tensest part is when Iwaizumi’s long-forgotten intercom crackles and he has to signal fiercely at Oikawa to _shut the fuck up,_ the latter pouting before grinning and drawing a line over his mouth with pinched fingers.

_“Hi guys, it’s Kageyama. Sawamura-san told me to take over as for some reason he feels he needs to go on indefinite hiatus as a police officer. If anyone knows Sugawara Koushi-san, please call him and tell him to knock some sense into his boyfriend.”_

           A muffled _shut the fuck up_ can be heard in the background. Kageyama sighs.   

           “ _Listen, I’ll ditch the professionalism because we all know each other so well.”_ Iwaizumi holds back a smirk as he senses Daichi breaking. For some reason (he knows the reason: it is very clearly Major General Ukai’s sense of humour) everyone from the Shinjuku branch police squad on southern patrol duty tonight used to play volleyball against each other in high school.

 _“Iwaizumi, Akaashi, Inuoka, anything on the thief?”_ As an afterthought: “ _Aone, Bokuto, Ennoshita and whoever else who’s still on duty, too.”_

            Aone responds after a pause with a gruff denial. He’s followed by Akaashi reporting for himself and Bokuto, and the evil aura emanating from the radio is almost tangible. Next is sleepy-voiced Ennoshita; then Tanaka and Inuoka – who sound high; all negative.

 

 

            Iwaizumi decides to be reckless and keys his intercom. “ _Affirmative. I just saw the car. He dumped it in an alley.”_

            Varied whoops, groans and unidentifiable babble greet him in response. Oikawa tuts lightly and Iwaizumi flushes – _so_ unprofessional _._

            He gives the location and Kageyama breathes in relief and goes, “ _Thanks very much, Iwaizumi-san. Everyone, it seems like this is out of our hands now. I’ll report everything to the main offices. Thanks for your help. All of you have clearance to go the fuck to sleep in around two hours. Over.”_

            After the transmissions are over, Iwaizumi realizes something and Oikawa bursts into laughter at the same time he exclaims, “Your fingerprints!”

            Oikawa looks momentarily puzzled, then understands and proudly displays the gloves he’d taken off earlier, still chuckling. Iwaizumi exhales, relieved. Then Oikawa says in mirth, “ _Iwaizumi Hajime?”_

            Iwaizumi brakes so harshly Oikawa almost slams into the dashboard. Granted, it is actually a red light he needs to stop at, but still. Then. It dawns upon him.

            With dread, he realizes why Oikawa’s name had sounded so familiar. He swivels slowly to stare into Oikawa’s soul. _“_ Oikawa _Tooru?”_

            “That’s the one,” Oikawa says happily. “You played for Aoba Johsai?”

            “Yeah, wow!” Iwaizumi’s grinning at this strange coincidence of fate. Then his brow furrows. “Wait, I remember hearing about you making the cover of some magazine, but which school did you play for?”

            Oikawa’s smile fades a little. “Shiratorizawa.”

            “You… you played for Shiratorizawa?” Iwaizumi manages, thoughts running as overtime as possible in his half-awake state. Wait, they’d played Shiratorizawa once, hadn’t they? Why hadn’t he seen Oikawa there?

            He’s about to ask Oikawa when the other boy speaks up, his voice forced.

            “I kinda… fucked up my leg,” Oikawa answers for him, in a monotone, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say except, “Oh,” and proceeds to hit himself mentally.

            The crushing silence is broken by another one of Oikawa’s small chuckles.

            “But oh well, that was years ago,” he states. “Don’t worry about it too much.” He sounds like he’s telling himself that, as well.

            Iwaizumi wants to hug Oikawa as he very obviously bulldozes straight through the sobering memories. “But enough about me! Were those volleyball people as well? _Were those actually Fukurodani’s Bokuto and Karasuno’s Kageyama?_ I think either Nekoma or… Datekougyou people were in there too, oh my god, they were, weren’t they?”

            Oikawa chatters animatedly, seemingly distracted from his previous grievances. “Did you know that when Ushiwaka – my captain – talked about them, he called them all dirt and from the first time he did I hated him. I mean, they played well! _You_ played well.”

            He directs this to Iwaizumi, who involuntarily grins like an idiot. Oikawa snorts at his expression. “It’s true. I often wished I were on the same team as you – Aoba Johsai, Fukurodani, Karasuno… all of them looked so close-knit, you know?”

            “We were,” Iwaizumi admits, cheered by the memories. “Weren’t you? Shiratorizawa was a powerhouse back in our time.”

            Oikawa stops fidgeting excitedly (which Iwaizumi did not think was cute) and says quite seriously, “It was a hell. Where Demon Lord Ushiwaka reigned supreme.”

            Iwaizumi nods along, trying to keep his face straight. It is, after all, a serious matter. But the image of famed, “Ace of Japan”, fucking _Ushijima Wakatoshi_ with a shit-eating, pseudo-scary expression, crossed arms, horns on his head, standing in flames while unnamed, swaying, seaweed-like vegetation with Oikawa’s face on them wailed before him, is too much for Iwaizumi to handle.

            He snorts once, and snorts twice, and bursts into laughter. It isn't even funny, but he feels a little high. Oikawa complains briefly, “ _Iwa-chan,”_ before becoming silent again and watching him with a strange look on his face, as if he’s caught a cold or something, or wants to sneeze. It _is_ very chilly outside, Iwaizumi reasons.

           “What?” he says anyway, but Oikawa smiles and turns away without replying.

 

 

            They drive in comfortable silence for a little while after that, then Oikawa gives the signal to _pull over next to that huge condominium_. Well, that wouldn’t help if he were giving tourists directions – everywhere is a huge condominium here. Nevertheless, it is accompanied by helpfully large hand gestures so that Iwaizumi thankfully manages to stop at the correct huge condominium.

           “Here we are,” Oikawa announces redundantly. “Thanks again, so much, Iwa-chan!”

           “Don’t _call_ me that, Trashkawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles, to which Oikawa responds with a petulant “LIFE’S TOO SHORT TO NOT DO WHAT YOU WANT, IWA-CHAN,” and for some reason, they’re laughing. Then they stop, and Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa, his soft brown hair framed by a halo from the streetlights behind him, his eyes wide and a little confused, his lips slightly parted.

            There is a short moment then where time seems to be frozen, where Oikawa is leaning in a little hesitantly, kissing Iwaizumi briefly on the cheek, his lips warm though his face is flushed from the cold.

           “Hey. Thank you,” he whispers and _bam,_ Iwaizumi could have died in that moment and gone to heaven, with all the angels and falsetto hymns and shit, seriously, he has it so bad, he is _such a useless gay,_ he tells himself, stunned.

            Time resumes as Oikawa scrambles out the door. The corner of his mouth is quirked the slightest fraction upwards as he peers at Iwaizumi.

            “See you around then I guess, huh Iwa-chan?” On cue, tiny, twin dimples blur the edges of Iwaizumi’s sanity. Iwaizumi blurts something unintelligible which he hopes was an adequate response.

            Then he’s walking away, and Iwaizumi’s alone in the car. What the fuck has just happened to him? He stares into space because his brain… really… isn’t working anymore.

 

 

            For the first time in a while, he notices that Tokyo at night really is a welcome sight. Everything seems brighter and _gayer_ than before, here outside at almost 5 in the morning, and call him a useless gay but he’s glad he met Oikawa tonight.

            Firstly, he’s glad he was able to help the guy.

            But more than that, Iwaizumi _likes_ him.

 

 

            Iwaizumi _likes_ him (his irritating but somehow endearing tongue-in-cheek personality, his smile, the understated wit glimmering in his eyes), and Iwaizumi wants to know more about him (his favorite songs, whether he prefers frozen pizza or instant ramen, how many episodes of any given TV show he’s marathonned all at once), and Iwaizumi brightens as he remembers: _“See you around then I guess, huh Iwa-chan?"_

 

* * *

 

 

            Daichi is very unamused with how things have turned out and Kageyama has to lowkey babysit him all the way back from the main branch to their shared-by-four apartment, where the remaining two occupants – Koushi and Hinata – are already sound asleep. Together. Now Daichi _and_ Kageyama are _very_ unamused.

            Akaashi and Bokuto have fallen asleep in the fucking car. That alone would be okay, but it is gay because they have consciously chosen to move to the backseat and sleep on each other, Bokuto curled up ridiculously with his head in Akaashi’s lap.

            Tanaka and Inuoka had sounded high because they’d managed to successfully get two girls’ numbers by just barely avoiding hitting them on the pedestrian crossing and following up with lots of sappy heartfelt apologies. They are now celebrating by unashamedly jamming to terrible Japanese pop songs in their car.

            Yaku has been sleeping in the passenger’s seat next to Ennoshita and doesn’t believe it when he wakes up with the smell of coffee permeating the air and Ennoshita denies having slept (“But your eyes literally look like you just woke up,” – Ennoshita looks stung). Nevertheless, the latter produces a tray of steaming coffee from the backseat and offers one to a grateful Yaku just as the sun is rising.

            Aone finishes his shift and helps a girl rescue her cat from a tree, helps several drunk people home, and continues in this vein until he reaches home in Otsuka under a dark blue sky with vestiges of golden light, at which point he has at least five phone numbers scrawled on his arm.

            Futakuchi’s hair is mussed and his expression passively sullen as he opens the door, muttering something about being late to work, but he tries to smile as he greets Aone all the same.

 

*

 

             Kuroo is up early as usual of Thursday mornings – Iwaizumi always involuntarily wakes him up at 6 when he comes back to the flat after being on night patrol.

             He gets up from bed slowly, gazing fondly at the mass of ash blond hair next to him, before making his way to the kitchen for morning coffee. Iwaizumi is already dead asleep on the couch in the living room – he didn’t even manage to make it to bed.

             Kuroo sighs, exasperated as he fixes his coffee with lots of milk and little sugar, sipping it on the way to pick up the mail outside.

             By the pavement, he sees Iwaizumi’s little silver Toyota, the passenger’s side facing him, thankfully unharmed – as, he has learnt, it is not wont to stay when Iwaizumi is on duty at night.

             He is about to turn back into the warmth of the flat when he notices a Post-It stuck to the window. Going to the driver’s side, he tries to read what it says.

             Slowly, a knowing, wry smile forms on his face. He aches to know the details, but for the time being Iwaizumi is about as responsive and mobile as a log.

            “It’s about time,” Kuroo says to himself as he passes the kitchen, with an amused look at Iwaizumi, who is still very much passed out and drooling onto the couch. Dumping his empty mug in the sink, he goes back to bed where Kenma is still curled up, breathing softly into the quilt.

            “’S’cold,” Kenma murmurs, latching onto his warmth grumpily. “At least you’re warm.” He shifts a little under the covers. “Poor Hajime. He hasn’t got anyone to be warm with.”

            Kuroo rests his arm companionably around his boyfriend, grinning. “...Kenma. _About that._ You’re not gonna believe this, but it seems like that guy isn't really so hopeless after all.”

 

*

 

            _Hey Iwa-chan, I think you’re a nice, considerate person – even if you’re a cop. Thanks for helping me! Also, you’re really cute. Here’s my number. Of course, it’s definitely only for discussing all that legal stuff with me later. But, well, maybe we could also discuss… a coffee. Or going out together sometime. Or something._

_See you around? :)_

_Yours, ~~Oikawa~~ Tooru :P_

**Author's Note:**

> as part of a society which highly victimizes women in rape cases, iwaizumi's immediate reaction to oikawa's story is v important to me also, 
> 
> can you tell i love iwaoi, so much,
> 
> feel free to talk to me about our iwaoi hearts on my tumblr - obtusify.tumblr.com
> 
> Sorry this is so sad and short but thanks for reading i lvoev you very much, 10/10 :)))


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